


The Faux Pas

by EclecticRegard



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Humor, M/M, Star Trek TOS meets Star Trek 2009 film
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:52:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticRegard/pseuds/EclecticRegard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Captain, we're being hailed by..." Uhura started, trailing off with a look of confusion on her face.</p><p>"... By who, Lieutenant?" Kirk prompted.</p><p>"Well, sir, they're claiming to be the Enterprise."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Faux Pas

**Author's Note:**

> Request fill.

There was little explanation for what had happened. Science and general knowledge had yet to catch up with this type of thing. The only thing that everybody could be sure of was that they had to fix it.  _Fast_.

 

The day had started out normally. Kirk had arrived on the bridge wearing his infamous green tunic, prepared for a tedious day of travel ahead. There had been a few wayward comets to avoid; fortunately Chekov and Sulu hadn't fallen asleep from boredom and were able to maneuver the starship rather nicely.

 

By the time Spock's scanner had picked up the strange entity, it was too late. Their ship was already being sucked into the darkness. All they could do was sit and wait, expecting to die.

 

As soon as the darkness had come, it was gone. It seemed as though they had merely passed through the entity with no problems at all.

 

A quick check around the ship would inform the bridge that everybody was healthy and safe. With a small sigh of relief, Kirk slumped back in his chair.

 

"Captain, we're being hailed by..." Uhura started, trailing off with a look of confusion on her face.

 

"... By who, Lieutenant?" Kirk prompted.

 

"Well, sir, they're claiming to be the  _Enterprise_."

 

He frowned, "On screen."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

Moments later, a young man with deep blue eyes appeared.

 

"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the starship  _Enterprise_. Identify yourselves."

 

The older man looked around his bridge, hazel eyes being met by the same confusion from his crew. Slowly, he turned back around.

 

" _I_  am Captain James T. Kirk of the starship  _Enterprise_."

 

"... Bullshit."

 

-...-

 

Some time and several arguments later, the two starships had agreed to dock at a nearby star base to sort out the entire mess. While the two captains and their first officers met to discuss things, the remainder of their crew was given temporary leave.

 

Never before had Doctor Leonard McCoy felt he needed a drink. The entire day had gone from bad to worse.

 

First, he had to deal with several crew members mumbling complaints about their captain's puke-colored 'fat shirt'. Then, he had to take advantage of the lack of activity surrounding the ship by giving a good number of the crew their annual physical (which lead to a whole new set of annoyances, what with the idiotic ensigns either requesting to be checked by Nurse Chapel or to be given their prostate exam 'the old fashioned way'). The straw that broke the camel's back was when he found out that there were  _two_  James T. Kirk's. He could barely handle one, let alone two.

 

After all, he was a doctor, not a miracle worker.

 

McCoy soon found the local bar and immediately resigned himself to drink as much ale as he could before he was called back to the ship. It was only fair.

 

He was on his second mug when somebody sunk onto the stool next to him. A quick glance over told him it was a younger, taller brunette with lovely brown eyes.

 

McCoy started.  _Lovely_? He looked down at the amber-colored liquid filling his mug.

 

Just how strong  _was_  that stuff, anyways?

 

"I'll have whatever he's having." A smooth, deep voice informed the bartender.

 

"Tough day, son?" McCoy inquired gruffly.

 

"You don't know the half of it." The younger man paused to take a drink as soon as the bartender set the mug down, "I swear, if I have to deal with two sexually enthusiastic captains instead of just one, I may literally kill myself..."

 

McCoy frowned slightly, letting the man's words wash over him.

 

"Are you... Doctor Leonard McCoy?"

 

Surprised brown eyes flickered to McCoy's face, "How'd you know?"

 

"I was thinking along the same lines about our two captains before you came along."

 

"... Ah." The younger doctor nodded his understanding.

 

"Well," McCoy held up his mug, "as we say in Georgia--"

 

"--Let's get fucking drunk." the younger McCoy finished for him, lifting his mug to meet his elder counterpart's.

 

-...-

 

It was rather nice to drink with his counterpart, McCoy decided. It was even nicer when they started complaining about their respective captain's various idiotic adventures and equally understood and sympathized with the other.

 

The fact that they didn't even remotely look alike hardly seemed to faze either man. Actually, it seemed to make their fast companionship work that much better. Both doctors thought it would be borderline creepy to hang out with a mirror image of themselves.

 

As the day turned into night, neither doctor received word that their respective captain's were even close to finishing up their meeting. Rather than simply return to their own ship and sleeping off the ale, they voted to continue their pathetic party together in one of their quarters.

 

A quick, sloppy game of 'Human, Klingon, Vulcan' (much like the 20th-21st Century game of 'Rock, Paper, Scissors', according to both Spocks) told them that they were to spend the remainder of the evening, conscious or not, in the younger McCoy's quarters.

 

Like two stereotypical drunks, they used one another to balance themselves as they staggered out of the bar and towards the loading dock. There they had a few on-duty ensigns beam them aboard the larger, cleaner,  _whiter_ starship.

 

"What d'ya think? Pretty nice, huh?" the younger McCoy prompted his older counterpart.

 

McCoy stumbled, wrapping his arms around his younger counterpart's neck to keep from falling. "It's too damn bright. We should've gone to my gloomy gray  _Enterprise_... Would make the hangovers easier to deal with."

 

"Too late.. We're here. I'm done walking in a straight line for the rest of the day."

 

The doors to the younger McCoy's quarters ' _whooshed_ ' open, quickly closing after the inebriated duo made their way in. They collapsed in a heap on the floor, just at the foot of the bed.

 

McCoy's gruff laughter mixed with the lighter laughter of the young man. The younger McCoy took a swig of the bottle of ale they had grabbed along the way. It took him a moment to realize the odd predicament they were in.

 

The younger McCoy was seated on his rear, his back against the bed and his legs spread out before him. The older McCoy was unwittingly straddling one of his counterpart's legs, arms still wrapped firmly around his neck. Only this time, they were facing each other.

 

The younger McCoy opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by his older counterpart.

 

"... Fuck, your breath stinks." he said with a half-grin.

 

The brown-eyed man chuckled, putting a hand at the nape of the older doctor's neck. "Shut up." he muttered before yanking the man forward, their lips crashing together.

 

All it took was that one sloppy, drunken kiss for both doctor's inhibitions to fly off into the not-wind of space. Suddenly the kiss turned into a mad scramble for the bed. The elder hovered above the younger.

 

Clothes were torn in the process of removing them; lips were becoming swollen with each near-bruising kiss. Breaths were heavy and bodies were growing increasingly hot as the moments passed. In the back of his mind, the younger McCoy wondered why the hell it had taken them so long to get to this point.

 

He dragged himself from his thoughts with a yelp, realizing that his older counterpart had suddenly nipped at his neck.

 

McCoy relinquished the slight grip his teeth had on the younger McCoy's flesh, replacing them with his lips and tongue, sucking at the skin for all he was worth. He didn't know what had come over him; he didn't want to waste the precious time trying to figure it out. All he knew for sure was that a younger, alternate version of himself was driving him to maddening heights of arousal.

 

The scent of alcohol clashed with each man's own personal, subtle musk. Thoughts of just who they were, especially to one another, had stopped crossing their minds after about their fourth drink, replaced by thoughts of their clothing having become a teasing burden, keeping them from the pleasure that they both sought.

 

Their shirts were finally off after several undocumented moments of rushed movements, quick bursts of breathing, and hickey-making. McCoy sat back on the younger man's abdomen, just out of reach of his growing erection, and let his eyes trail from the dark mark marring the young doctor's otherwise creamy flesh to the thin hair covering his chest.

 

The younger McCoy's hands ran absently along the older man's rather hairy arms, a slight, drunken smile playing at his lips as he did so. He vaguely wondered if the older man had ever had sex with another man.

 

Well, there was no point in asking now. He would find out soon enough.

 

McCoy suddenly pushed his hips up off of the taller man, scooting down to sit on his legs. He wasted little time in undoing his counterpart's pants, clumsily releasing the rather intimidating erection.

 

In the back of his slightly insecure mind, the age-difference suddenly hit McCoy. It hit the younger man as well, but for rather different reasons. While McCoy frowned at the large appendage and contemplated, the younger McCoy's mind began to race.

 

The older man was shorter than him, sure, but he was also at least fifteen years older than him. That and his small frame made him seem so... fragile. He would have to be careful with the man, no matter how experienced he was.

 

While the young doctor thought far too clearly for such a drunk person, the older man went to the snythesiser, putting in an order for a small tube of lubrication. Once he had the proper bottle in hand, he returned to the bed, tossing said bottle at his counterpart's head.

 

Foggy brown eyes looked at him, curious as he began to undo his own pants.

 

"I'm not gonna prepare myself, you little asshole." McCoy stated gruffly, allowing his pants to pool at his ankles before stepping out of them.

 

McCoy straddled the younger McCoy's abdomen again, keeping his hips slightly in the air as he came down for another deep kiss. The younger counterpart opened the tube with a  _'pop'_ , squirting some of the cool, gooey liquid onto his fingers. His hand found its way down past McCoy's own straining member, soon reaching his quivvering entrace.

 

One finger slipped easily into the heated tunnel despite the small fight the ring of muscles were giving it. A second finger followed, stretching the hole a bit more before they began to pump in tandem, scissoring ocassionally.

 

McCoy broke their kiss with a shallow gasp, the look on his face indeterminable.

 

His young companion frowned. Dammit, he still couldn't tell whether or not he was a virgin in this sense. Determined, he suddenly stuck in a third finger. McCoy's head fell back as his back arched, a sharp hiss escaping from otherwise pursed lips.

 

It was getting harder and harder for the young McCoy to worry about his counterpart's well-being. That hot channel was just so inviting and the noises the older man was making simply drove him  _crazy_. It didn't hurt that McCoy's thigh kept rubbing up against the young man's leaking erection as he rocked in time with the fingers preparing him.

 

Finally,  _finally_ , the younger man removed his fingers, lacking the finesse of a morally sound, sober individual. He fumbled with the bottle of lube, surpressing a groan as McCoy whined his protests at being empty.

 

It felt like hours before the young McCoy had managed to slick himself up. His strong hands gripped those tiny, seemingly weak hips and slid that welcomingly tight, hot passage down onto his aching member. McCoy's hands came to rest on his counterpart's arms for support as he eagerly started to move himself up and down.

 

It was hardly a beautiful, loving act. Far from it. However, it was something that the two men had needed for far too long. It was only by sheer miracle that they'd even found one another at the exact moment when their needs would intertwine.

 

As they moved with sloppy rhythm, they would notice that it seemed as though their bodies were nearly perfect compliments of one another's. The parts seemed to fit just right, and what they lacked in physical similarities they made up for in paralled reaction.

 

Yes, it was indeed a miracle.

 

The sounds of a squeaky mattress and shallow breaths filled the air. Sweat beaded over every inch of their bodies, the salty stench mixing with alcohol and becoming their new shared musk. Neither man would last long; neither man  _could_  last long. They were driven so forcefully by their desire and arousal to want to savour the moment.

 

Suddenly, McCoy's body arched and froze, his tired voice hoarsely yelling out his completion that splattered the sheets and his counterpart's chest. It was a chain reaction. No sooner had McCoy come than the younger doctor followed suit, filling the slighter man to the brim.

 

They barely had the sound of mind to pull apart and lay down before darkness fell over them...

 

-...-

 

McCoy awoke with a staggered groan the following day. His back was killing him, which wasn't that big of a surprise. His legs were also rather sore. And oh _god_ , he had a massive hangover.

 

He muttered "Lights at ten percent." before even bothering to open his eyes.

 

He immediately realized that he wasn't in his quarters.

 

"... What the hell...?"

 

Somebody rolled over, wrapping an arm around his middle. Slowly, McCoy turned his head to look.

 

He thought he was going to puke. Or die. Preferably die.

 

"What. The.  _Hell_!" McCoy shoved the younger man away, grabbing a pillow and whacking him with it a few times.

 

"Ow, ow! Jesus, stop it! What the fuck did I do??" the younger man growled as he suddenly woke up.

 

"Alright, you little bastard, where are my pants?"

 

"What?" The brown-eyed man froze, recognizing the voice.

 

"Where. Are my. Pants."

 

"How the hell should I know? What're you doing in my bed, you dirty old prick?!"

 

"Who're you callin' a prick, you fuckin' pervert?!"

 

-...-

 

A few hours after daylight, the two captains and their first officers had finally finished negotiating what they were going to do to take care of their current situation. They were about to disassemble when their respective Chief Medical Officers stormed into the meeting room, looking like their usual grumpy selves.

 

"Bones, there you are!" the younger Kirk smiled, exhausted.

 

"Bones, we came up with a plan." Kirk stated with his own tired smile.

 

"Great. Let's get the hell back to our own universe then."

 

"It is not as easy as that, Doctor." Spock stated smoothly, "We will have to work in tandem with the other crew in order to ensure our safe return."

 

"Namely, we have deemed it best for each individual to work with their counterpart to ensure highly satisfactory results." the younger Spock concluded.

 

The two doctors shot accusing glares at each other.

 

This was going to be a  _long_  process...


End file.
